


The victim and the murderer

by Lost_gallifrey



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Awkward Romance, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bathtub Sex, Cole is horrible at being human, Guilty-Blackwall, Human!Cole, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, awkward everything, background Iron Bull/Cassandra, background Lavellan/Dorian, cock-blocking Solas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:17:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5936500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_gallifrey/pseuds/Lost_gallifrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A newly human Cole struggles to adapt to his new situation with Blackwall's reluctant guidance. There's riding, brawls, drunken debauchery & a very guilty Blackwall who wants to deny his attraction to the wayward spirit who puts extra pepper in his stew and braids flowers into his horse's mane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I will not be a dirty old man.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a kink!meme prompt asking for Cole/Blackwall romcom style, with a guilty/introspective Blackwall. (Is there any other kind?)
> 
> *chapter 1 takes place directly after Cole's mission ,but before Blackwall's.

It began, as so many things seemed to those days, with simple forgetfulness. 

Blackwall considered himself somewhat responsible, if only because Inquisitor Lavellan was so enraptured by every slick, pretentious word that rolled out of Dorian's mouth that he probably wouldn't have noticed if an arch demon had arrived in their midst. He certainly didn't notice when Cole, in his confusing, newly (supposedly) human state, stated to falter.

Cole was always a favorite to accompany the Inquisitor on his forays into the far reaches of Thedas. He could flit from one place to another effortlessly, making him the perfect forward scout. And there was always the added bonus that he didn't require a mount, supplies, or even a coat. There wasn't even any need to find a tent for him, namely because he wouldn't have slept in it anyway.

The day had started well enough. The party had risen just before dawn to find Cole had already added wood to the fire, and even set Dorian's cloak to soak up heat from the flames in an attempt to assuage his constant complaints about the cold. Blackwall's mug was sitting by his tent flap, full of steaming tea that smelled sharply of mint, and Lavellan was scooping out a bowl of last-night's stew which had been thoughtfully warmed.

The horses had already been saddled and fed.( Blackwall's gray was even sporting an inexplicable garland of flowers wound through its mane.) In good spirits, the party had ridden off into a gloomy spring day with Cole loping out ahead to warn them of any dangers on the trail. 

It wasn't until mid afternoon that Blackwall noticed that Cole had dropped back until he was overtaken by both Lavellan and Dorian who were busy discussing magical nonsense that didn't make a scrap of sense. 

“Are you alright, lad?” Blackwall asked as his horse drew up beside Cole, who was doggedly marching through the rain looking like the physical manifestation of pure misery.

It took a moment for Cole to even recognize that he was being spoken too, during which time he tripped over a tree root and managed to stay on his feet through what Blackwall could only assume was pure force of will. “My body feels strange, and my feet don't want to listen to me anymore.” Cole explained in a small, sad voice, as if his chosen form had committed a great betrayal with these failings. 

Blackwall was good at guilt, was utterly comfortable with its constant, gnawing presence. But even with his expertise, it gave a fresh twist when Cole tilted his head back far enough that Blackwall could see his red-rimmed eyes sunken into a pale, hollow face beneath the soggy brim of his hat. The boy looked disturbingly like the corpses that Dorian dragged back into service during battles. 

There wasn't much point in asking Cole when was the last time he'd eaten or slept. The lad avoided sleep like it was contaminated with the blight, and unless someone (usually Cassandra) bullied him into eating, he usually managed to ignore that too. Varric, while excellent at teaching Cole to be a veritable card shark, wasn't all that good at making sure he slept or had regular meals.

“You're....worried. About me?” Cole sounded almost distressed by the idea as Blackwall dismounted to wrap his cloak around the boy's shoulders; even damp wool would be warmer that Cole's trademark rags. “That's not right...”

Despite his protestations, Cole seemed content to rub his cheek against the thick weave of the borrowed cloak and didn't even protest when Blackwall gave him a leg up onto the stocky gray the warden favored. 

“You'll have to get used to it.” Blackwall said gruffly as Cole settled awkwardly in the saddle, fingers tangling in the gray's mane. “If you're a real human now, you have to take care of yourself. That means you tell someone if you're hurt, or sick, or tired.”

“My body was always human.” Cole said with a trace of sullen petulance that was as new as his need to eat and sleep. “ It just wasn't so _loud_ before. When it's quiet, I forget.”

Then I'll remind you.” Blackwall promised, reaching up to squeeze Cole's bony knee in reassurance and wondering why he even cared what this strange creature did to itself. 

___________________________________________________________________________

Blackwall didn't mind walking. The emerald graves were picturesque enough, especially now the rain had eased up and the sun was peeking through the dripping branches. The physical strain of keeping up with the horses in full armor kept his mind occupied, and gave him fresh respect for Cole who had managed this pace for most of the day on little or no sleep.

Once Lavellan had realized why Cole looked more worn and ragged than usual, his mobile face had crumpled into a look of hangdog contrition that was made all the more dramatic by the lines of his vallaslin. His apologies seemed to make Cole miserable, which at least silenced his potential protests when Dorian passed over a piece of travel-bread studded with currants for the young man to chew on as he rode.

One aspect of the journey did provide Blackwall with some amount of grim amusement. Cole was, without a doubt, the worst rider he had ever seen. The lad sat in the saddle like a slumped sack of grain, the reins hanging slackly from his fingers as he made no effort whatsoever to guide his mount or discipline its increasingly awful behavior.

The gray was obviously bemused by its strange new rider, and as horses were wont too, promptly took advantage of the situation. It snatched mouthfuls of shrubbery, knocked Cole's hat off on low hanging branches, and once it smelled a distant creek it simply flagged its tail and took off at a high-stepping canter with Cole clinging to its back like a limpet. 

By the time the rest of the party caught up, the gray was knee deep in the rushing water and chewing happily on a mouthful of flowering water plants as Cole stroked its neck benevolently. 

“He likes the white flowers best.” Cole explained as Blackwall swung up into the saddle behind him, reaching around to retrieve the reins. “And he likes the water. Cold, clear, cooling like snow without the bite.”

With a sigh, Blackwall nudged his now-cooperative mount to catch up with Lavellan and Dorian. Cole settled comfortably against him, seemingly content now that he had helped the horse enjoy the plant-clogged creek. 

The rest of the afternoon passed in relative peace, the only irritant being Dorian who smirked openly at Blackwall after Cole had surprised everyone by falling asleep against the warden's shoulder. Oddly touched, Blackwall wrapped one arm around the boy's waist to hold him steady, and spent the rest of the ride breathing in Cole's scent of wet wool, leather and metal.

___________________________________________________________________________

Shadows were lengthening into dusk when Lavellan decided once particular overgrown glade was more welcoming that the other hundred they had passed and announced that it was time to set up camp.

Shaking a sleepy Cole awake, Blackwall swung down off his mount with all intentions of offering Cole a hand out of the saddle. Instead the lad hopped down in a tangle of ragged leathers and, somewhat predictably, wound up on his arse.

“Ow.” Cole muttered, looking a bit stunned by the fall and prodding experimentally at one thigh. 

“Oh ho!” Dorian laughed sympathetically. “You think your legs hurt now, wait until tomorrow.”

“What happens tomorrow, Dorian?” Cole asked, cornflower-blue eyes wide as he stared up at the mage expectantly.

“Well....” Dorian huffed, offering Cole a hand up. “You're going to wish dearest Mahanon had taken us somewhere civilized instead of this wilderness. Somewhere with bath houses, soaking tubs and talented masseuses. But now you will have to settle for that foul horse liniment your hairy new friend always has in his saddlebag.”

Leaving Blackwall to scowl at his back, Dorian lit their campfire with a negligent wave of one hand and sighed dramatically as he went to help Lavellan set up their tent. Chances are he would be able to ply the Inquisitor with enough subtle compliments that he would wind up doing little, if any, physical labor. 

Dorian wasn't wrong though, Blackwall thought as he watched Cole limp around their campsite collecting firewood and armfuls of fodder for the horses. Whatever aches the boy had now were nothing compared to how he was going to feel in the morning. 

Dinner was a simple affair: wild apples that Lavellan had gathered during the ride were baked in the banked coals of the campfire, then sliced between chunks of honeyed bread. For all his protestations about the simplicity of the hearty fare, even Dorian wasn't above licking honey from his fingers when he was finished. 

To Lavellan's delight, Cole accepted his portion with a marked lack of his usual grumbling about the horrors of eating and wolfed it down so fast that Blackwall was surprised he didn't choke. It was almost pleasant to sit around the fire with Cole drowsing and sated, for once too tired to dredge up traumatic moments from everyone's past. 

Blackwall volunteered for first watch, content to sit by the fire and scrape at a knotted piece of wood that had escaped the flames. Lavellan and Dorian sought out their tent almost immediately, leaving Blackwall with Cole, who was, through some unspoken agreement, supposed to be sleeping in the warden's tent.

“You should get some rest, lad.” Blackwall jostled Cole with his knee, unable to see if he was sleeping under the shadows of his hat. “No need for us both to be up.”

“But your thoughts get loud when you stay by yourself. Knots become tangles, and...” Cole interrupted his own monologue with a jaw cracking yawn. “I slept on the horse!” He added, obviously frustrated.

“Most people need more than an hour or two.” Blackwall admonished, amused despite himself. “Now go on, I'll be fine.”

The night passed in uninterrupted silence. When the moon finally rose above the trees, a sleepy eyed Dorian came out to sit his portion of the watch and Blackwall sought the peace of his bedroll. 

The tent was lit by the glow of the campfire, and Blackwall froze as soon as he entered. His cloak had been hung from the center-pole to dry, and his bedroll was laid out with his packs tucked neatly beside it. Cole hadn't even taken one of the warm, woolen blankets for himself before balling himself up in the furthest corner of the tent, as if desperate to take up as little of Blackwall's space as possible. 

The guilt that had been spiraling in Blackwall all afternoon picked up its pace. He had been reticent about sharing his tent, especially with someone who could see straight through his lies....even if, for whatever reason, Cole had let him keep his secrets. Now it was clear all Blackwall had done to reward that strange loyalty was make Cole deeply uncomfortable.

Retrieving a small jar from his packs, Blackwall knelt at Cole's side. The lad was curled up so tightly that his nose was almost between his knees, sheathed daggers clutched to his chest in hands that twitched restively as he slept. Watching Cole's eyes move beneath almost transparent lids, Blackwall wondered what a spirit could possibly dream about. 

A touch to Cole's shoulder had him sitting bolt upright, staring around the tent with wide eyes. 

“There was.....Sera?” Cole said distantly, looking utterly confused. “Except it didn't look like Sera.”

“You dreamed about Sera!?” Blackwall rubbed at his beard to cover a small smile, he could almost hear Sera's scream of outraged horror.

“I think so?” Cole confessed. “But she looked like a nug. And there was The iron Bull, and dresses.....and something about gravy? What does it mean?”

“It's a dream, lad. It doesn't mean anything.”Blackwall shrugged away Cole's concern. “Now come over here and take those rags off, I want to do something about your muscles before you stiffen like that.”

Anyone else would have balked at such a brusque order. At the very least, Blackwall expected at least shyness, but Cole simply shrugged and did as he was told.

“Oh, alright.” Cole mumbled amiably, as if men asked him to take his clothes off in the privacy of a tent on a regular basis. 

Cole dragged his patched shirt off and left it in a heap on the floor, giving Blackwall a view of a lean, pale back that was marked with old scars and a few clusters of freckles that the warden found inexplicably charming. Then the ragged leather trousers followed the shirt and Blackwall realized he was staring, mouth gone as dry as when he tried that abysmal dwarven ale that Varric had dared him to drink. The lad didn't have a so much as a stitch of small-clothing on, and the sight of his slim hips, round arse and long, toned legs made Blackwall feel like a filthy old man.

“What do I do?” Cole asked tentatively. “And you aren't dirty. Dorian only says so because you don't use oil in your bath like he does.”

How Cole knew what that ridiculous, puffed up mage liked in his bath-water wasn't something Blackwall wanted to consider.

“Lie down.” Blackwall jerked a thumb at the bedroll, then tossed a blanket at Cole before he could get any closer. “And for Maker's sake, wrap up before you catch a chill.”

Cole watched silently as Blackwall extricated one pale leg from under the blanket and gobbed on a smear of unguent that smelled of pungent elfroot and wintergreen. The boy's skin shivered under his broad hands like a nervous colt, twitching when Blackwall dug his thumbs into knotted muscle.

“Oh!” Cole muttered, stretching out with a sigh of relief. “That feels good.”

The blatant pleasure in Cole's voice made something clench low in Blackwall's stomach. He tamped it down as best he could, trying not to focus on Cole's little humming sighs of pleasure, or the way the lad went from nervous to pressing eagerly into Blackwall's hands as the warden soothed the tension down his long back. 

Blackwall assumed Cole's responsiveness came from the simple fact that nobody had really bothered to teach the lad that his body wasn't just a source of real and remembered misery. Whatever the reason, by the time Blackwall wiped his hands clean on a rag, Cole was a relaxed,loose-limbed heap on his bedroll; if he was sore in the morning, at least he'd be able to function.

Hazy blue eyes followed Blackwall as he straightened, tugging down the edge of his tunic in the hopes it would hide the tightness of his trousers. It was impossible to look at Cole, tousled and drowsy on his bedroll, and not think of the other ways he could teach him to feel good. 

“What other ways are there?” Cole asked sleepily. “I feel good now. Real but floating, faded but not fading. Is there more?”

Too easy, Blackwall thought grimly. He might have done it once: seduced and tumbled the boy without a second thought, excusing himself with the reasoning that he would have made it good for Cole even as he found his own pleasure. But he wasn't that man anymore, was trying so hard to make sure he didn't become him again.

Cole was strange, possibly even dangerous. But Blackwall had come to accept that he was sweet in his own way. He deserved better than the lurid fantasies of some dirty old bastard. 

“No,” Blackwall said firmly, as much for his own benefit as Cole's. “That's all there is. Get some sleep, the Inquisitor will want to make an early start.”

It was hard to ignore the confusion on Cole's face, almost impossible to turn away from the glimpses of pale skin beneath the rucked up blanket. 

Determinedly retrieving a few personal items from his pack, Blackwall threw his cloak over one shoulder. The drape of fabric at least hid the ache of his shame from prying eyes even if he couldn't hide it from himself. 

Thankfully, Cole was drowsing, face pressed into his forearms, by the time Blackwall roughly shoved the tent flap aside. Dorian looked up and raised an elegant eyebrow as the warden strode past.

“And where are you huffing off to?” 

“Bathing.” Blackwall grunted, pretending he hadn't seen Dorian's feigned incredulous shock. “Not that it's any of your business.”

The woods swallowed any reply Dorian might have made, and Blackwall quickened his pace despite the chafing pinch of his trousers. The creek was only a half mile back down the trail, and Maker's balls, the water had better be cold.


	2. I will not take advantage of benevolent spirits

The book was one of the terrible, trashy trashy novels that Cassandra favored. Blackwall had caught Pavus reading it several days before, although the mage had wrapped the offending literature in the cover of a treatise on Ravaini history to disguise it. It was utter drivel, but as long as Blackwall focused on the pages he could ignore the stares and whispers from the other tables.

It wasn't that he didn't deserve to be stared at. He deserved a lot worse than that, but it still rankled against the small part of Blackwall that had some tattered remnants of pride. The condemnation was harder to ignore when it came from people he had considered friends, but that too was to be expected. Honestly, he wouldn't have blamed them if they'd lynched him in the courtyard or thrown him in the stocks.

An overworked waitress marched over to the second-floor table and slammed a bowl of stew down so hard that a few gobs flew out to land on the table. Her face softened slightly as Blackwall gave her a grave nod of thanks, and a thick slice of buttered bread and a mug of dark ale joined the stew. 

A few tables over, a pair of kitchen maids stared and tittered behind their hands and Blackwall buried himself back in his sordid book. It kept his mind off their gossip, and thankfully none of the book characters were slim blonde boys with a penchant for ridiculous hats.

Of all the inner circle, Cole was the only one who didn't treat Blackwall any differently. In fact he seemed to have stepped up his attempts to be helpful, which was almost more uncomfortable. Some days he would come and sit while Blackwall carved or sharpened his sword until the edge gleamed; other times he drowsed in the straw, and the trust that implied made the former warden a little bit ill. 

At times, Blackwall found himself looking forward to a flash of ragged, blonde hair or a glimpse of pale skin that never seemed to tan no matter how many times Lavellan hauled Cole out to the western approach. As much as he loathed himself for the attraction, Blackwall could at least attempt to make Cole's visits beneficial. Every time the lad brought him food, still warm from the kitchen, Blackwall insisted that he sit and share it. If he couldn't control his own degenerate thoughts, then he would at least make sure Cole got a regular meal out of it.

Taking a mouthful of stew-soaked bread, Blackwall grunted in appreciation. Most of the food the tavern or main, Skyhold kitchens served seemed exceptionally bland, but lately they had started spicing his rations. Stew arrived with extra pepper, and the fresh bread now came with a little crock of hot-pepper jelly or soft cheese studded with peppercorns. The cook had looked utterly confused when Blackwall had thanked her for the consideration, so he grimly assumed that the largess was coming from a source that was clearly well due for a lecture on theft.

The stew was long gone, and several chapters of erotic rubbish had been read when the crash of breaking crockery interrupted the details of the Night Commander's amorous exploits. The crash was followed by a few howls of outrage and yells of encouragement, the sharp sound of splintering wood and the clatter of chairs.

Brawls weren't unheard of in the tavern, but most people weren't willing to risk the ire of either Commander Cullen, or the Bull's Chargers, who took spilled drinks as a personal affront and tended to be heavy handed in their retribution. 

With a sigh, Blackwall tossed his book down and stomped down the stairs, descending into the chaos just as Cabot grimly rounded the bar, barrel stave in hand. 

The main floor was a seething mass of people who were either directly involved in the altercation, or were laying bets. Krem had rescued Bard Maryden and was cheerfully kicking anyone who got too close, Sera was haphazardly tossing half eaten food at the combatants, and to Blackwall's shock, Cole was in the thick of it, trading blows with a dark-haired young guard. 

“Hey, that's enough!” Iron Bull waded into the fray as Cabot started laying about with his stave, sending opportunistic brawlers staggering.

A solid crack of wood on bone had the guard rolling on the ale-spattered floor, clutching at a bruised knee, as Iron Bull simply grabbed Cole by the back of his ragged shirt and hauled him bodily towards the door.

“I don't have time for this shit, go cool off!” Iron Bull helped Cole exit the tavern with a firm shove, folding his arms and chuckling grimly when the lad actually rounded on him. “Oh, kid. Don't make me throw your skinny ass in a cell for the night.”

Blackwall winced as Cole blanched at the threat. Backing away far enough for Iron Bull to slam the tavern door firmly in his face.

“Now.” Bull ambled back to the young guard who was standing gingerly on his sore knee and slung a heavy arm across his shoulders. “It was good of you to volunteer to dig a new privy for my boys.”

“I...didn't...” The guard started to protest, choking when Bull tightened his grip on his shoulder.

“Sure you did.” The big Qunari said, snagging an abandoned drink and downing it. “Else I'd have to take you to see the boss. You could explain to him why you were taking swings at Cole in the middle of the tavern. Your choice.”

By the time Blackwall crossed the taproom, the guard was frantically extolling the joys of digging privy holes. In fact it was his favorite hobby, and he was downright enthusiastic about the prospect of starting immediately and working through the night in full armor. 

The courtyard was silent when Blackwall stepped outside, and suspiciously free of underfed spirits. Peering up at the battlements, Blackwall looked for the familiar hunched figure, but there was nothing but starry sky.

___________________________________________________________________________

Blackwall let his hands settle over the whorls in the block of wood. Knots twisted under his fingers and became eyes in the untouched chunk of pine, a swirl of grain became a wing raised for flight.

“How do you know what it wants to be?”

Setting his carving knife down, Blackwall looked up to where Cole was dangling his legs over the edge of the loft. He'd made himself scarce since the night before, not even skulking in to sleep in the clean straw like he usually did. 

“Come down here, and ...Maker's sake!” Blackwall snapped as Cole simply kicked off and dropped down to the barn floor. “Use the stairs before you break your bloody legs!”

“Sorry,” Cole mumbled contritely, sitting next to Blackwall on the bench and wriggling like an overeager pup being shown a new toy. “I wanted to see.”

Taking one of Cole's hands in his own, Blackwall guided it to the block of wood. The lad had long, delicate fingers that looked almost fragile in his own rough grip, pale against his tanned skin. It was impossible to not wonder what more of that contrast would look like, and Blackwall tamped down the errant thought ruthlessly. 

“Here,” Blackwall said gruffly, trailing Cole's fingers over the whorl of grain that seemed almost like feathers. “What do you feel?”

“There used to be a branch there,” Cole said hesitantly, fingers twitching. “Beetles ate under the bark, and then the wind tore it away. An old man made a walking stick from it and the tree remembered his fingers, wrinkled and weathered like the sea. I don't see what it wants to become.”

Blackwall chuckled at Cole's crestfallen expression. “Not everyone has the gift for carving, Lad.”

Setting the edge of a curved knife against the grain, Blackwall scraped off a long, perfect curl of shaved wood as he watched Cole settle closer on the bench. 

“So.” Blackwall eventually prompted when it became clear that Cole wasn't going to volunteer an explanation. “What happened last night.”

Cole immediately tucked his knees up and hid his face against his legs, becoming a hunched tangle of limbs under his over-sized hat. “Varric said it was wrong,” he muttered petulantly. “I shouldn't hurt people, even if I get angry.” Beneath the brim of his hat, Cole's mouth settled into a tight, unhappy line. “But the guard shouldn't have said that! He was wrong, and I had to make him stop.”

Blackwall frowned, bushy eyebrows lowering over his eyes. Cole wasn't one to take offense at what people said, or even did, to him. This was the same lad that had taken tea and soup to Sera every day for a week when she was ill, never stopping despite the fact that she regularly threw the offerings straight back at him. 

“What did he say?” Blackwall set his knife aside and lifted Cole's chin with his fingers, concerned despite himself.

“He said you would never change, that you couldn't. _The herald should have put the bastard down like a mad dog, it's only a matter of time before he turns on us._ ” Cole scrubbed one cheek against his knee, voice rising with distress. “But he's wrong! People can change, become better. If they can't become more, then....”

Ah. Blackwall let out a slow breath. He'd heard bits and pieces about Cole's past, both from gossip and from the boy's own admissions. It was bad enough that Cole thought he had to defend him, that it was making the lad question his own value was unacceptable.

“He was wrong, in a way” Blackwall admitted grudgingly. “Some of us just have a lot to atone for.”

“Yes.” Cole replied agreeably, clearly assuming Blackwall meant him. “ Then I'm glad I stopped him.”

With a sigh, Blackwall eyed Cole's pale face. A few bruises darkened his fair skin, and a welt along his jaw attested to someone in the tavern swinging a chair. It could have been a lot worse, and if someone didn't teach Cole to duck a punch, it was going to be worse eventually. 

As much as Varric and Lavellan meant well, they often mistook Cole's good nature for passivity. Well, they had advocated for him to embrace his human nature, and there wasn't a young man in Thedas who wouldn't take a stand if pushed long enough. This would be on their heads then.

___________________________________________________________________________

“I already know how to fight.” Cole looked curiously at his daggers, which Blackwall had removed and driven point-down into a mounting block. “But you took my knives away.”

“I did.” Rolling his shoulders, Blackwall shrugged. “And you're dangerous with them, but I don't think you know how to fight without a blade in your hand.”

It didn't take long for Blackwall to realize just how right he was. Without his knives, and prohibited from using the maneuvers that made him such a threat on the battlefield, Cole was a disaster. He avoided every opportunity for a strike that Blackwall gave him, telegraphed his movements so badly a blind man could have avoided them, and when he did manage to throw a punch it was more likely to break his wrist than anyone's face. He was strong, and incredibly fast, but completely lacking in technique.

Frustrated, Blackwall let Cole flounder through some awkward attack that probably would have been devastating if he had his daggers. Grabbing the lad's wrist, Blackwall twisted his arm up behind his back and locked his forearm across Cole's throat.

“That's cheating.” Blackwall reprimanded mildly as flickers of fade-light danced along Cole's skin, indicating the fade-step he used in battle. “I showed you how to get out of this one.”

There was no way Blackwall could lie to himself. Even if it hadn't been his intention at the beginning of this exercise, he couldn't deny that Cole felt horribly good struggling against him. And struggle he did; apparently forgetting anything that Blackwall had taught him, Cole fought until he was panting and trembling from the exertion. 

“Drop your weight and use your elbow.” Blackwall said gruffly when Cole subsided. “And remember, anyone that uses this hold is probably going to be wearing armor so...”

The instructions ended with a rasping wheeze as Cole demonstrated an absolutely flawless hold-break, twisting his weight and driving his elbow directly between the overlapping plates of Blackwall's practice armor. 

Sucking air, Blackwall flopped back on the straw strewn floor. “Maker's balls you have sharp elbows” He grumbled to the Cole-shaped blob that was looming in his swimming vision. 

“I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you.” Cole sounded distressed. “Cassandra has better elbows than me.”

“I'm alright.” Levering himself upright, Blackwall gave Cole a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but his traitorous hand lingered, thumb brushing against the soft skin where he lad's shirt had slid down one shoulder. “Been a while since anyone put me on my arse like that.”

Cole settled back on his haunches, still looking troubled as Blackwall prodded at his aching gut. If not for his disconcerting eyes, the boy looked more human than Blackwall was used to. The unexpected exercise had brought a flush to his usually sallow cheeks, his sweaty hair was a tangled ruin that was somehow charming. He was almost handsome, Blackwall realized uncomfortably, when his face wasn't set in it's usual cast of misery.

“Am I?” Cole asked almost too innocently. “Handsome? I asked Dorian and Lavellan.”

“Ah....and what did they say?” It was pointless to lecture Cole on private thoughts, and damn his mind for going there. When had he become his?

“Dorian didn't want to answer, he pretended to be sleeping. Lavellan said I was....'unconventionally appealing'.” Cole tilted his head with almost studied nonchalance. 

“That's the Herald.” Blackwall said, suddenly uncomfortable and all too aware of his hand still resting on Cole's shoulder. He tried to remove it, but it betrayed him and moved up instead, following the angle of Cole's jaw. “He has a way with words.”

“Oh. That's good then.” Cole said and smiled, a brief, sunny flash of gapped teeth.

Blackwall's life had been, in his opinion, a progression of horrific decisions that had led to this moment. No matter what he tried to be, he was always failing. A good man wouldn't have let his fingers tangle in Cole's hair to pull him closer, wouldn't have kissed him.

For a second it was like kissing someone who wasn't even aware of it, and Blackwall was going to pull away in horror, but then Cole gasped against his mouth and kissed him back with sudden enthusiasm. It was messy, too rough, utterly awkward; Cole's skin was almost too hot and sweat-slick for comfort, and Blackwall was almost certain the lad had beard-hairs in his mouth. Even if it would never make it into one of Varric's well-penned love scenes, Blackwall could never remember being this breathless.

The part of himself that Blackwall hated rolled Cole onto his back, laved his neck with open-mouthed half-bites, pressed a knee between his thighs and thrilled at the shocked noise he made. The lad was shaking, mouth trembling against Blackwall's as he gasped in shallow breaths.

'What,” Cole panted. “What is this? I...I want...”

Blackwall knew he should stop. If he had any honor left after he'd stepped down from that Val Royeux gallows, he should stop. Instead he mouthed his apologies silently against Cole's collarbone, sucking a flush of bruises along the bone. 

It had been so long, so damned long since anyone had touched Blackwall in any way more significant than a comradely slap on the back. And after Val Royeux, there hadn't even been that. Cole's fingers clutched at his tunic, scratched along his neck, snagging in the snarled strands of his hair. 

“Stop.”

For a moment, Blackwall was almost proud of himself. Cole was so warm and so eager, and even in the face of that temptation he'd done the right thing, he'd stopped. Except...he hadn't.

Cole was looking past Blackwall with an expression of someone who had been shown the grace of the Maker, only to have it snatched away. His body was still shaking, lower lip caught between his teeth, cheeks flushed. 

“Cole.” Solas said with deceptive mildness. “I would like you to come with me please. Now.” He added tersely when Cole made no attempt to move away from the knee between his leather-clad thighs.

What followed was one of the most humiliating minutes of Blackwall's life. He managed to clamber to his feet with what he hoped was a minuscule amount of dignity, feeling ridiculously exposed under the neutral gaze of an elf who looked like he was wearing ragged pajamas. It seemed almost like he was tempting fate to offer Cole a hand up and ruffle away the straw clinging to his hair.

Ushering an obviously disappointed Cole toward the door of the stables, Solas paused to fix Blackwall with a look that was less his usual bland arrogance, and more like a wolf eyeing a particularly fat nug.

“You are familiar with Chantry teachings of the void, I assume?” Solas continued without giving Blackwall a chance to answer. “A place of nothingness, said to be far from the Maker's side I believe is what they say. I would imagine there is a very, very distant,frigid corner of that void that is reserved for people who take advantage of the trust placed in them by benevolent spirits.”


	3. I will not misuse Skyhold's bathing facilities.

“And then,” Iron Bull gesticulated with a fist sized haunch of meat, scattering drippings across the table. “I hit her again, drove my axe right through her skull. It was glorious!”

“It might have been glorious the first time, possibly even the second.” Dorian wiped a gobbet of flung-meat from his cheek with exaggerated care. “But this is at least the fifth time we've heard this story. It has long since gone from glorious to tedious.”

“I have to agree with Sparkler on this one, Tiny.” Varric waved his drink at the Qunari. “A story should get better every time you tell it, not worse.”

On the periphery of the celebration, Blackwall raised his mug in silent agreement. The battle had been a thrill, but Iron Bull's retelling had descended into the mundane about three tankards ago. 

Letting his eyes drift over the great hall, Blackwall tried to convince himself he was only looking for Cole to assure himself that the lad had come through the dragon fight unscathed. He'd been trying hard to distance himself in accordance with Solas' less than subtle council, but it was difficult when he awoke sweat-soaked and achingly hard from the memory of Cole's lithe body beneath him. 

The little noises of shocked pleasure Cole had made echoed in Blackwall's head almost constantly. As much as Blackwall knew he should be ashamed, that he should encourage Cole to seek the company of someone younger, kinder, _better_ , he couldn't help but thrill at the idea of hearing him again. He wanted to take the lad apart with his hands and tongue, until all he could hear was that breathy voice crying out in discovery of all it meant to be human.

Resting his shoulders against the cool stone wall, Blackwall scanned the crowd with hooded eyes. Cole wasn't where he could usually be found, playing cards with Varric, or listening wide-eyed to Iron Bull's ridiculous stories. Inexplicably, he was sitting behind the Inquisitor's ostentatious throne with, of all people, Sera.

Sera's face was flushed, her expression caught between amusement and the disgust that seemed to be an automatic response to Cole's presence. As Blackwall watched, she selected a small black bottle from the alarmingly large assortment spread out on the floor in front of her, took a mouthful and doubled over coughing before gingerly shoving the bottle across the floor to Cole.

By the time Blackwall levered himself down beside them, Cole was still choking on whatever Sera had handed him. 

“It tastes like burning,” Cole gasped, scrubbing his mouth on a ragged sleeve. 

“Yeah, that one's shite.” Sera picked up another bottle and squinted at the contents. 'This one's glowy.”

“It's got lyrium in it.” Blackwall rebuked sternly as he reached over and snatched it out of Sera's hand, putting it securely out of reach. “Maker's balls, where did you get all this?”

“Quizzy's been storing 'em. It's a waste, them sitting there going all dusty....”

Cole seized the opportunity to retrieve another bottle, taking a long swallow before Blackwall could intervene. “Oh,” he enthused, “I like this one. It tastes like the sun feels.”

Blackwall sighed as Sera tried Cole's recommendation and termed it 'better than piss,' before consigning it to the 'drinkable' pile that he was rather concerned to notice included the notorious 'Garbolg's Backcountry Reserve'.

“How much have you had, lad?” Blackwall's concern was leavened with amusement. It wasn't that he was adverse to Cole discovering the wonders of alcohol, he just would have preferred it wasn't through experimenting with foul and potentially dangerous vintages.

“I had....more” Cole frowned down at his fingers before transferring his hazy gaze to the array of bottles. “Some tasted like peaches.....but wrong. Peaches and....dirt.”

“Arse-peaches!” Sera laughed. “That shite was foul.”

Reaching over, Blackwall snagged a bottle from the array of untested bottles, nearly choking on the bitter brew. “I wouldn't polish armor with that.”

Cole reached out to retrieve the bottle he'd liked, missed by several inches, and tried again with a determined frown on his face. 

“I think you've had more than enough.” Blackwall said tolerantly, trying to settle Cole against the wall before the lad tipped over on his face. 

“I like beards.” Cole smiled, slumping over until his head was resting on Blackwall's shoulder. “Yours is so big.”

Sera managed a horrified snort of laughter before her entire face screwed up into an expression like a cat that had smelled something foul. “Eugh! You aren't what its been making mopey-faces about all week? That's....that's just...”

Thankfully, Blackwall didn't have to hear Sera's opinion, because Vivienne swept around the side of the throne in a glory of perfectly arranged robes and condemned them all with a single glance. “While I hardly expect sense from any of you,”she began with chilly hauteur. “I would like to know who thought it was even remotely responsible to get the demon drunk.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Vivienne had scornfully banished all three of them from the great hall, a decision that was only partially successful. As Blackwall left, one of Cole's long arms draped over his shoulders for balance, Sera was standing on one of the tables and gracing Vivienne with an unobstructed view of her slim, elven backside while Dagna cheered raucously. 

The cool night air roused Cole slightly, enough that he tried very helpfully to walk on his own and nearly pitched them both down the stairs. 

Iron Bull, who was busy channeling his dragon-killing excitement into serious drinking, passed a bottle over to his lieutenant and lounged back on the stairs with a grin. “Fuck, kid. What did you drink?”

“Everything,” Cole mumbled, pushing his face into Blackwall's shoulder. “Sera said it was helping....we had...we had to make the bottles safe.”

“Sera's an idiot.” Blackwall said, shifting Cole's weight with a grunt. The lad might be skinny, but he was heavier than he looked. “Where does Cole sleep?”

“Tavern loft, but I'll bet he'd rather sleep in the stable.” Bull followed up that horrifically unambiguous statement with a slow wink. 

“I like the stable,” Cole agreed. 

Stoically deciding not to dignify either of them with a response, Blackwall hauled Cole across the courtyard. The tavern was mostly deserted, with most of the regular patrons enjoying the festivities in the main hall, only Cabot was present to raise an eyebrow over the sight of Blackwall half carrying an obviously soused Cole up the stairs.

Somehow, when Iron Bull had said 'loft', Blackwall had assumed Cole had picked out a small room for himself in the quietest corner of the tavern. What he found instead was a dingy little corner with a few dusty barrels, a couple of ragged blankets that had obviously come out of the rag-bin, and a random assortment of discarded items that made Blackwall feel smaller than he had in years.

“I think the floor is moving....” Cole slithered out of Blackwall's grasp and flopped down on the worn floorboards. 

Picking up a lumpy carving from where it had been carefully balanced on a wobbly barrel, Blackwall recognized his own work. He'd been well into his cups when he'd produced the hopelessly lopsided gryphon, and had promptly consigned it to the rubbish heap the next day. Now it was sharing space with a few tattered books and a mangled stuffed nug that Iron Bull had convinced Lavellan to let him fire with the trebuchet.

“This is wrong.” Blackwall said, deeply disturbed. 

“Hmmm.” Cole hummed in what Blackwall could only assume was agreement. “Floors shouldn't move.”

Leaving Cole half sprawled on his sad assortment of blankets, Blackwall stomped downstairs to demand a room from a confused Cabot who clearly couldn't understand why the strange creature in the loft suddenly needed lodging. 

Cole was obviously as baffled by the new accommodations as Cabot was to provide them. He gazed blearily around the room from where Blackwall had deposited him on the bed, long fingers plucking at the woven coverlet. 

Sternly telling his hands to remain brusquely professional, Blackwall set about tugging off Cole's shoes, belt, and patched shirt. As he leaned over to pull the blankets up, Cole wound long arms around his neck, tugging him down hard enough that Blackwall had to brace his hand against the wall to not wind up in the lad's bed. 

“You could stay,” Cole murmured in a shockingly blatant invitation. “You want...and so do I, I think...”

The shaky kiss Cole pressed to his throat very nearly unmanned Blackwall, as did the hot slick of the lad's tongue against his pulse. “Oh, lad.” Blackwall regretfully unlatched Cole's arms and pressed him down into the covers. “I might be an bastard, but I'm not that kind.”

“Thom?” Hearing his name, _his name_ in Cole's breathy voice made Blackwall pause, his hand clenching hard against the door he was about to push open. “Cassandra called it falling....but it doesn't feel like falling, it feels like I chose.”

Speechless, Blackwall watched as Cole settled himself deeper into the mattress with a soft sigh, pale eyelashes fluttering shut as his breathing settled into the steady cadence of sleep. “Goodnight, Cole.” 

___________________________________________________________________________

Blackwall woke early, roused by the familiar sounds of hungry livestock kicking at their stalls as a grumbling Dennet forked hay into feed-bins and chopped meat for the dracolisks. Blackwall wasn't fond of the temperamental, dragon-like mounts, and their shrill demands for breakfast were an unwelcome start to the morning.

The rest of Skyhold seemed to be sleeping off the night's celebrations. Other than a few hardy souls who were slowly going about their morning chores, the huge keep was almost entirely silent. Even the tavern, usually the bustling hub of Skyhold, was uncharacteristically quiet. The main source of noise came from the Iron Bull, who was passed out on one of the long tables which creaked alarmingly with every deep, bass snore. 

Cabot was nowhere to be seen, so Blackwall left a silver on the bar in exchange for a plate of sliced bread and cheese, and a pitcher of cold spring-water. 

Blackwall was almost disappointed that Cole didn't so much as stir when he pushed his door open. The lad was sprawled out on his stomach, face buried in the pillows and one long leg hanging off the side of the bed.

Setting the water and plate of food down within easy reach of the bed, Blackwall carefully lifted Cole's leg and set it back on the mattress, tugging the blankets back up over his bare shoulders. In the early morning light, Cole looked like nothing more than a normal young man sleeping off a night of drink. It was hard to reconcile with the otherworldly creature who was almost terrifyingly deadly on the battlefield, and had once slaughtered terrified mages in their cells in a misguided attempt to ease their pain. 

Swallowing down a lump in his throat, Blackwall cursed himself for the worst kind of sap. He should have put a stop to....whatever it was that was growing between Cole and himself the second he felt the first stirrings of attraction. Now he was lost, as much so as if he had been able to hear the Warden's calling. 

Maybe if he asked Lavellan, he could get re-posted to some far away Thaig. Spend his remaining years battling darkspawn in the hopes of atoning for his past crimes, and the ones he desperately wanted to commit now. 

Cole stirred as the grim thoughts roused his compulsion to help, mumbling something unintelligible into his pillow as his spirit nature warred with what had to be a truly impressive hangover. Adding that to his daily list of things to feel guilty for, Blackwall sternly settled his mind onto a more neutral topic and fled for the Skyhold baths before he did any more damage.

Contrary to everything Dorian had ever said on the subject, Blackwall did like the baths. The water, heated by the forge fires, felt glorious on joints that sometimes ached in the cold, and old battle scars that were eased by the heat. What he didn't like was the crowded, communal atmosphere, and since the private baths were usually in use, he made do with a bucket of water from the well and Dorian's unending scorn.

This early, there were only a few guardsman soaking out their hangovers in the hot pools and a few closed doors to the private baths that suggested that at least a couple of the inner circle were attempting to make themselves presentable. 

Closing one of the heavy doors behind him, Blackwall flipped the lock and opened the sluice that poured hot water into the stone tub. For the first time, he almost regretted disposing of the ridiculously fancy bath oils Dorian had shoved in his pack when he thought Blackwall wasn't looking. As much as Blackwall didn't want to smell like citrus fruit from Tevinter, it would have masked the slightly metallic scent to the water.

Shedding his trousers and padded tunic, Blackwall sank into the water with a groan of pleasure. He could feel tension sliding out of his body as the heat pooled in his muscles. He dosed for a while, lolling in the warmth until the somewhat unwelcome stirring of his own flesh roused him. Running a calloused hand down his chest, he carded through the wiry hair, dropping lower to rub a thumb against the base of his cock. 

Shame and guilt had kept Blackwall from taking pleasure in the vivid memories and fantasies that had lingered in his mind for weeks. But here, in the dimly lit privacy of the bath, he couldn't help but gasp as his neglected flesh twitched against his hand. If it was Cole's hand he imagined gripping him, it was just an idle thought, it hurt nobody.

Abandoning the last shreds of his honor, Blackwall closed his eyes and stroked himself to full hardness. The water was hot against his skin, he wondered if Cole's mouth would feel similar, and a vivid image of the lad's pink mouth stretched around his shaft made his shake. He bucked his hips in the water, groaning as he imagined burying his fingers in Cole's ragged hair, pulling him close until he spilled into the lad's welcoming throat.

He'd make it good for Cole too. Blackwall figured the lad would be tight, he would work him open slowly until he was begging for it. Twist that long, pale body into positions he knew would be possible because Cole was inhumanly flexible.

The click of the door unlocking didn't manage to penetrate Blackwall's lurid fantasies, but the louder sound of it closing made him falter, eyes flying open. 

Cole was leaning against the door, angular face flushed red under an uncombed tangle of hair. As Blackwall stared, Cole shivered, chest heaving as he breathed out hard. 

“I locked that.” Blackwall said inanely, as if the locked door was somehow more important than the fact that he was naked in the bath with his cock in his hand.

“I asked it nicely, the door didn't mind.” Cole responded, with an excellent demonstration of just how much he still had to learn about the world. “I woke up, and you were very loud. You made me be there,and here. Welcoming, wild and wanton,...and I wanted...”

Cole shuddered, pressing his shoulders back against the door. Around the time he whimpered, teeth biting down on his bottom lip, Blackwall realized the lad was hard in a way that had to be deeply uncomfortable in his tight leathers.

Blackwall's guilt set in almost immediately. His mental perversions had been so horrific that he'd roused Cole from a rare sleep, and dragged him down to his level. He had to stop, he had to....

“I don't want you to stop.” Cole peeled a hand away from the door and brushed his fingers along the hollow of his throat, dragging down over his rumpled shirt. When his tentative hand slid lower to his strained leathers, Cole gasped sharply, cheeks darkening. “Please. I want this.”

It was all Blackwall's shameful, sordid desires come true. The shy way Cole touched himself, the little noises the lad was making under his breath .....oh Maker help him, he was going to freeze for eternity in Solas' special void. 

“Come here,” Blackwall held out a hand, thrilled when Cole came to him with no hesitation at all. 

Apparently taking Blackwall's request at complete face value, Cole slid into the bath fully clothed, the water instantly plastering his worn clothing against his skin. His mouth was against Blackwall's in seconds, fierce as his hands scrabbled for purchase against wet skin.

Growling into the kiss, Blackwall spread Cole's legs so the lad was straddling him, rutting up against him almost frantically. He fumbled with the laces of Cole's leathers, working a hand down the back to grip the round swell of his arse, fingers brushing against his tight hole. Blackwall wished he'd brought slick, because damn him if he didn't want to bend Cole's long body over the side of the tub....

“Please, yes.” Cole moaned against Blackwall's mouth. “I want that, I want....”

“You don't even know what you want.” Blackwall dragged Cole's soaked shirt off so fast he heard the material tear. “Trust me...”

Cole just shuddered in reply, body jerking as Blackwall mouthed at his throat. He cried out sharply as Blackwall worked one nipple between thumb and forefinger, pinching the tender flesh into a sharp peak, before soothing away the ache with his tongue.

The wet laces finally surrendered to Blackwall's attentions, and he peeled Cole's wet leathers down to mid thigh before taking his cock in a water-softened hand. If he'd thought Cole was eager and responsive before, it was nothing to how he writhed now, gasping out shallow breaths as his fingers dug bloody little half-moons into Blackwall's shoulders. 

“Easy, lad.” Blackwall cautioned, slowing his strokes until Cole gulped in a few deeper breaths. “Does that feel good?”

“Yes, it feels tight.....but like a promise, not pain.” Cole smiled, followed it up with an open mouthed kiss that left Blackwall momentarily breathless.

“That's how it's supposed to feel.” Blackwall said gruffly, pulling Cole's rolling hips against his own so their cocks slid together. 

He'd been so close before Cole had interrupted that Blackwall knew he wouldn't last long. He wrapped his fist around himself and Cole, letting the lad's jagged movements push him closer to the edge. Smoothing his free hand over the small of Cole's back, Blackwall slipped down until he was palming the lad's arse, rubbing his fingers against his hole until he relaxed enough that Blackwall could push a finger through the tight ring of muscle.

“Relax,” Blackwall admonished as Cole tensed at the intrusion. Pushing deeper he found what he was searching for and pressed his finger against it, unsurprised when Cole half shrieked at the sensation, hips jerking helplessly. “There you go.”

It took only a few strokes before Cole came apart, almost sobbing against Blackwall's chest as he spurted thickly over his fist, entire body shaking with reaction. Spurred on by the sheer intensity of Cole's orgasm, Blackwall dug his fingers into Cole's slim hips, jerking the lad's body against his until he found his own shuddering release.

It only took a few moments for the guilt to seep in around the post-orgasmic bliss. Cole was nestled against his chest, but Blackwall could see the bruises he'd sucked to the surface on the lad's neck and shoulders, the reddened fingerprints on his hips that were going to bruise....

“Stop that.” Cole levered himself upright, mouth settled into an expression dangerously close to a pout. “You make it hurt even when it shouldn't.” Looking Blackwall straight in the eye, Cole added solemnly: “You said to tell you if I was hurt, sick or tired, Thom. You are giving me a headache, and it hurts.”

“Sorry,” Blackwall mumbled, feeling very much like he had been outplayed as Cole settled contentedly against his chest again. “And your headache is probably from the ridiculous amount of alcohol you had last night. Did you at least drink the water I left.”

“Yes.” Cole rubbed his cheek against the thick hair on Blackwall's chest. “And thank you for the food. The Iron Bull was very hungry when he woke up.”

“That was for you, you daft creature.” Blackwall sighed.

They probably would have stayed like like that, dozing in the hot water, if several irritated bathers hadn't kicked at the door and loudly voiced their desire for a private bath. Cole was just pulling his sodden, torn shirt back on when a familiar, strident voice sounded from outside the door.

“Whoever is in there, get out.“ Cassandra said, rapping sharply on the door. “Some of us would like to bathe!”

“Hello Cassandra,” Cole said brightly, swinging the door open and leaving Blackwall barely enough time to grab his tunic and hold it over the parts of himself he'd rather not show to the seeker.

“Cole....” Cassandra looked a bit stunned by Cole's sodden state, her stony gaze sliding from the love bites on his throat to where Blackwall was trying to shuffle towards his discarded trousers.

“The Iron Bull was looking for you,” Cole said brightly, forestalling whatever violent action Cassandra was contemplating. “He wants you to hit him with the stick again, except it's not a stick, and you aren't really hitting him with it. He wanted you to wear your armor.”

A flush rose up Cassandra's neck, coloring her face until even her ears were blazing. “I...I think,” she started, clearly at war with herself. “I think it would be best if we all agreed to never speak about this again.”


	4. I will not be manipulated by lusty demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this is pretty much just smut.

“Would you stop _fussing_ at me!” Cassandra snapped peevishly, waving off Iron Bull's concern. “It was a glancing blow, nothing more.”

It was easy for Blackwall to conceal his amusement beneath the ice-crusted expanse of his beard. The hulking qunari had been fussing over Cassandra like an unlikely hand-maid ever since a red templar had dealt the seeker a blow hard enough to split her shield. 

“She likes it because it shows that you care.” Cole informed Iron Bull happily, ignoring Cassandra's glare that was somewhat ruined by the blush rising up her cheeks. 

“Could we focus, please.” Lavellan said irritably. He'd been especially dour since Dorian decided he absolutely was not going to leave the tolerable comfort of his tent to traipse around in the snow and ice and cold with him. “Cole, is there anyone else out here? And I do mean people,” he added with a world-weary sigh. “Not nugs, tragic dead bodies, rage demons with cold toes. People.”

“Rage demons don't have toes.” Cole said softly as he tilted his head, eyes going unfocused under the brim of his hat. “Everyone is safe, secure from the storm. One of the villagers knitted Solas a hat, she thought his head would be cold.”

“Good lad.” Blackwall rested his gloved hand on Cole's shoulder. The brief, bright-eyed smile Cole turned his way made him feel embarrassingly warm inside. “The folk we sent back to the village wouldn't have lasted the night, not if this storm is as bad as it looks.” 

Since what Blackwall was referring to as 'the bathhouse incident' he'd been trying to give Cole the space to decide if this was what he wanted. It was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain that distance when Cole wasn't above sneaking into his sleeping furs if given the chance and took every opportunity to ambush Blackwall in forgotten corners of Skyhold and kiss him until he was breathless.

The whole situation had left Blackwall so moodily frustrated that Sera had bluntly asked him if he'd taken to shoving lemons up his arse.

“Then we should probably head back before we get caught in this.” Lavellan eyed the encroaching storm clouds with a shudder, pulling his robes tighter around himself. “Let's cut straight down to the lake from here, it should save us the better part of an hour.”

“Is that wise?” Cassandra asked, peering down the precipitous, boulder strewn slope with trepidation. 

Lavellan shrugged, which seemed to be one of his favorite gestures. “There's no red templars down there, what's the worst that could happen?”

Lavellan was, for the most part, an excellent leader. Despite his hard work and dedication to the cause, he was occasionally prone to flippancy and recklessness, and had now proven beyond all doubt that he did not possess the slightest dribble of prescient ability. 

Cursed by Lavellan's decision to tempt fate, Blackwall was less than a quarter mile down the slope, with Cole dogging his heels, when he fell into a hole. One moment, the snow was a reasonably stable surface, and the next it was dropping away beneath his feet like a malicious illusion. Had there been Venatori willing to brave the icy mountains of the Emprise, Blackwall would have happily blamed them for the situation.

Scrabbling helplessly at the sliding snow, Blackwall heard Cole yelp in either pain or surprise, and then he was falling into something that broke with a resounding crash and showered frozen dirt everywhere. Tumbling into the dark, Blackwall shouted as his knee impacted a frozen outcropping an instant before he landed badly on a heap of frozen earth and shattered timbers.

“Maker's bloody balls in a vice,” Blackwall swore, wrapping his gloved hands around his knee. “Cole, are you alright?” 

In the dim light filtering down from the hole they'd fallen through, Blackwall could see Cole sprawled and still on his back a few feet from where he had landed. For a heart-stopping moment, during which Blackwall realized Cole wasn't breathing, he thought the fall had killed the lad. Just when panic was beginning to set in, Cole heaved in a ragged breath and flopped onto his side, alternately coughing and trying to gulp in mouthfuls of air.

“You knocked the wind out of yourself,” Blackwall said as Cole shot him a vaguely terrified look. “Just breathe. You'll be alright.”

Peering around at the cavern they had wound up in, Blackwall could see a dusty stack of old boxes, a few sacks full of what looked like silverite ore, and a pile of unused shoring beams. A tunnel led away from the main chamber but was, unsurprisingly, choked with fallen rock and ice.

It was a tiny stroke of luck that whoever had run the mine hadn't been trapped in the cavern to die. By the way Cole was peering uneasily around, Blackwall didn't think sharing the space with frozen corpses was a welcome idea.

Trying to stand, Blackwall clenched his teeth against the ache in his leg. A shower of snow from above heralded the arrival of three concerned faces staring down at him.

“I'm so,so sorry!” Lavellan called down, voice cracking as if he'd conjured the hole himself rather than lead them to it. “Are you both alright?”

“I forgot how to breathe and Blackwall hurt his leg.” Cole said in an oddly subdued voice, “and I don't like it down here.”

“We'll have you out in a moment, Cole.” Cassandra reassured him. “Who has the rope.”

There were several minutes of silence, broken only by the increasing noise of everyone scuffling through their packs with increasing desperation.

“Fuck.” Iron Bull eventually said, which effectively summed up Blackwall's opinion of the entire, blighted situation.

___________________________________________________________________________

“Are you sure you'll be alright?” Lavellan was in the full throes of guilt over his shortcut choices. “We'll be back with a rope and some help as soon as we can.”

It was utterly ridiculous. The inquisition had faced high dragons, demons, enough monstrous beasts to fill a bestiary twice over...and here they were, stuck in a frigid cave because nobody had thought to bring a rope. If Varric had penned anything as tritely moronic in one of his novels there would have been a collective groan heard across Thedas.

“Hey, kid~catch.” Iron Bull dropped his pack down. “There's enough food in there too keep you two going, some blankets...and something else you might need as well.”

Blackwall had a horrible suspicion Bull was leering, a thought that was confirmed by a disgusted noise from Cassandra. So much for subtlety.

Cassandra passed her fur-lined cloak down, and Lavellan would have stripped off every stitch of clothing he owned and marched back to camp in his smalls if Iron Bull hadn't physically stopped him from doing so. In the end, they had enough gear to survive reasonably comfortably; it wasn't the worst place Blackwall had slept, which was both sad and disturbing.

Dragging the gear to a small, sheltered alcove,Blackwall realized Cole hadn't moved. He was still clutching Iron Bull's pack, fingers knotted around the straps so hard his knuckles were white. “What if they don't come back?” Cole eventually asked, wide eyes fixing on Blackwall like a lifeline.

“Of course they will.” Blackwall worked Cole's cold fingers free from the pack and pulled him into a rough hug, wishing he could take away even a tiny bit of the death memory that lived in the spirit's mind. “They're our friends, Lad, not your Templar.” Blackwall could feel Cole nod into the crook of his neck, and rubbed a hand over his back in a way he hoped was reassuring. “Now lets get a fire going, this place wont seem as bad with some light.”

With the old crates broken down for kindling and the shoring beams dragged over to supply a solid fuel source, Blackwall eased down next to the flames with a groan. His knee spiked with persistent pain, and Blackwall wasn't in the least surprised when Cole slunk over to stare at it almost accusingly.

“It hurts. New ache over old, binding together.” Cole touched the offending joint gently, fingers cold even through the fabric of Blackwall's trousers. “I could have healed it once,before I was this.”

“Well, I wouldn't trade you for a quick healing,” Blackwall said gruffly. “Besides, old knees like mine are going to ache at the best of times.”

Apparently unsatisfied with that answer, Cole rummaged through Iron Bull's pack until he found a spare potion and broke the wax seal with the tip of his dagger. “I don't like it when you hurt, it makes me ache,” he said almost petulantly, holding the potion out until Blackwall relented and swallowed it.

Another vial rolled out from the depths of the pack and Cole scooped it up, turning it over in his hands curiously. It was fancier than the others, and, Blackwall noticed, fashioned into a rather familiar and embarrassing shape. The next time he saw The Iron Bull, Blackwall wasn't sure if he would thank him or punch him.

“Oh. You wanted this in the bath.” Cole said brightly, eyes going slightly unfocused as they did when he was about to pick something horribly inappropriate out of someone's head. “Just enough to make it slick,” he said in a disturbing imitation of Blackwall's gravely voice, “but not enough to stop the burn. A few drops to ease the way and I'll make him come so hard half the fade is going to hear it.”

“Maker's balls,” Blackwall grimaced. “Do you have to make me sound like some perverse old lecher. Doesn't it bother you?”

“Your thoughts? No, they're all for me and I like listening to them.” A slight flush rose up Cole's pale face. “Nobody else thinks about me like that.”

“And it doesn't bother you that I'm old enough to be your father?”

“I don't have a father.” Cole tucked his knees up against his chest. “The real Cole did, but he wasn't like you at all. Cold, callous, cruel....he didn't want to be better and I'm glad that he's dead.”

“I'm sorry, lad,” Blackwall said awkwardly. He was never quite sure how to take Cole's matter-of-fact revelations about the horrors experienced by the dead boy he had tried to become. “I just want you to be sure.....there are better men than me.”

“You make yourself better.” Cole slid as close to Blackwall as he could without outright clambering into his lap. “And I want to be yours....Oh,Cassandra said I should tell you I was cold and it would be warmer together, except she pretended she was saying it to her boots instead of me.”

It was such an artless suggestion that Cassandra could only have got it from one of Varric's tales, the fact that she had softened up enough to give such advice to Cole meant that Iron Bull's company had done her a world of good. Blackwall almost laughed, but he wound his fingers into Cole's hair and tugged him close instead. “Are you trying to manipulate me into bedding you, little demon?”

Cole's eyes went very wide under the shaggy edge of his bangs. “Yes?” He said hesitantly, “is that bad?”

“Very,” Blackwall said sternly, before kissing away the worry that was tightening Cole's cold-reddened mouth.

They'd spread every sleeping fur and camp blanket available in front of the blazing fire, and Blackwall turned a few back before tumbling Cole onto their makeshift bed. He was used to the ragged shirt and trousers Cole always wore around Skyhold, his more complicated battle-gear resisted Blackwall's cold-clumsy fingers as he struggled with the buckles that held his daggers to his back. 

“Get this off.” Blackwall growled against Cole's avid mouth, tugging at his layered coat. 

A guilty thrill rose in Blackwall as Cole's nimble fingers reacted instantly to the order, shoving his dagger harness and coat off his shoulders. He let his mouth trail along the exposed arch of the lad's collarbones, moving lower to take a pebbled nipple in his mouth, nipping at the sensitive flesh and then sucking hard when Cole tugged at his hair. 

“You like that?” Blackwall looked up at Cole through his bushy brows, stroking a hand over the tense muscles of his stomach. “Tell me what you want.”

“W...what I want?” Cole looked confused.

“That's right.” Blackwall bit lightly at the skin over Cole's navel and chuckled when he jerked like he'd been branded. “What keeps you up at night?”

“Sera.” Cole said decisively. “She shoots arrows at the walls, it's very loud. And Krem sometimes when he drinks with The Iron Bull.”

“I suppose I should have expected that,” Blackwall sighed. “I meant, do you ever think about what you'd like me to do to you?”

“You want me to ask so that it's you giving instead of taking,” Cole said wonderingly. “I like what you wanted to do in the bath,” he added tentatively. “You thought of a lot.”

“You always make me sound dirty,” Blackwall grumbled. He grazed his knuckles over the front of Cole's leathers where the lad was obviously achingly hard. “I can take the edge off, if you want?”

“Y..yes. Please.” Cole shifted eagerly as Blackwall pressed harder. “Take and then taking.”

Hooking his fingers in the waistband of Cole's leathers, Blackwall slid them down his long legs and sat back on his heels to admire the result. Cole was all long limbs and lean muscle marked with the inevitable scars of someone who fought in close combat. The pale skin of his thighs shivered under Blackwall's calloused hands, hips shifting restlessly in his grip.

It was almost impossible to be slow, and Blackwall nearly spilled the oil in his fumbling haste to coat his fingers. After what felt like months of guilt and clandestine fumblings, self recrimination, doubt, and the lurking fear that Solas was going to curse him with the blight or something equally awful, Blackwall finally had Cole spread out below him. 

“Easy,” Blackwall smiled as he nudged Cole's legs apart to press an oil-slick finger against his hole. It was easier than last time, but the lad was still incredibly tight and Blackwall worked him slowly for a minute before adding a second finger. The startled noise Cole made turned to a shocked gasp as Blackwall bent to lick a hot path along his cock, sucking lightly on the swollen tip. “Is this what you want?”

Cole looked too stunned to answer, and Blackwalll almost laughed. The lad might be a spirit made flesh, but in that second he was utterly human; there wasn't a man alive that didn't go speechless and stunned the first time someone sucked them off. 

“Close enough,” Blackwall smirked, moving his fingers sharply as he took Cole back into his mouth.

It didn't last long, as Blackwall knew it wouldn't. Cole was too sensitive, writhing and gasping in shuddering breaths as Blackwall pressed a third finger into him.

“I, I...please...” Cole gasped, eyes squeezed shut and long fingers gripping Blackwall's hair so hard it almost hurt. 

Blackwall hummed his encouragement, pushing his fingers hard and deep until Cole spilled into his mouth with a shocked yell. Blackwall swallowed him down, letting some of the bitterness linger on his tongue so he could lean over Cole and kiss him deeply, sharing the taste.

“Can I still say what I want?” Cole murmured shyly against Blackwall's throat, punctuating the question with a light nip at the skin there. 

“And what do you want?” Blackwall fisted his hand in Cole's hair, pulling him back until he could see his flushed face. 

“You?” The way Cole reached down and cupped Blackwall through his trousers left little doubt as to what he meant. “You how you always wanted but were worried was wrong. It doesn't hurt you if I ask.”

The air was abruptly cold on Blackwall's shoulders as he shed his armor and padded under-tunic, almost startled by how eagerly Cole explored his exposed skin. It was hard to imagine him finding his old, battle-scarred body even remotely appealing...

“It's , Cole said pointedly, running his fingers through the thick hair on Blackwall's chest before sliding lower. “I like all the parts of you.”

Blackwall was glad Cole was open and slick from where he'd fingered him, he wasn't sure he could have made it through another session without embarrassing himself. As it was, he was almost shaking as he pressed the head of his cock to Cole's tight arse and filled him in two sharp thrusts. 

Cole cried out at the sudden movement, body tightening until Blackwall felt almost ashamed by how abruptly he'd taken the lad; he almost pulled back, but Cole wrapped his legs around his waist, hands tugging at his hips.

In one of Cassandra's favorite books, they would have moved slowly together for hours. Every movement gentle and languid. But Blackwall had wanted this for too long, had struggled through too many nights with only guilt for company. He held Cole's hips in an iron grip, distantly aware that his fingers were leaving bruises as he thrust into the tight heat of the body below him, spurred on by Cole's eager cries. 

“Please, please...” Cole whimpered, hard again with the enviable stamina of youth. Writhing as the friction of Blackwall's belly against his cock made him shake.

Cole's ragged fingernails scrabbled across skin hard enough to hurt, until Blackwall caught his wrists in one hand and pinned them above his head. The lad struggled briefly, then arched and came with a gasp when Blackwall tightened his grip. 

Hips jerking helplessly, Blackwall followed Cole over the edge, his own heartbeat thrumming in his ears as he shuddered through his ending. 

Slowly pulling away, Blackwall winced. Cole was fucked out, panting and bruised, with Blackwall's spend sliding down one reddened thigh. He looked exactly how he had imagined, on the guilt-ridden nights when he'd allowed his thoughts to get this depraved. 

Tugging the furs over them both, Blackwall settled Cole against his chest, soothing a hand over his trembling back until the lad relaxed into an exhausted sleep. Outside, the wind howled as the storm vented it's fury on the Emprise, its rage, Blackwall knew,would be mirrored by one particular rift mage. Solas was going to kill him.

Time in the mine could only be measured by their slowly dwindling pile of firewood. Blackwall only ventured out of the comfort of the sleeping furs to drag another log onto the blaze, and Cole always welcomed his chilled body back by wrapping him in warm, sleepy limbs. It was an unprecedented show of self-sacrifice. 

“Can you hear the others?” Blackwall asked, tracing an old scar on Cole's shoulder absently.

“They are worried but waiting.” Cole replied, wriggling eagerly as Blackwall moved his hand down over his lean hip. “Varric wants to go now, but he is not as tall as the snow.”

“There's an image.” Blackwall slipped his hand between Cole's thighs, finding him still slick from where they had come together sleepily in the dim hours before dawn. He was going to buy Iron Bull a drink or twelve when they got back to Skyhold. “But since they wont be here for hours yet....”

Cole was able to give enough warning of the arriving rescue party that they could be dressed by the time their friends arrived. No amount of washing with a spare shirt soaked in ice melt could erase the obvious bruises and love-bites not hidden behind cloth and armor, not could it do anything about the way Cole moved with a slightly stiff gait. Honestly, Blackwall was just impressed the lad could still walk. 

___________________________________________________________________________

“There's silverite down there, you say?” Lavellan peered down into mine as Dorian groaned melodramatically beside him. “I don't suppose I could...”

“I'm not hauling you out of there too, boss.” Iron Bull rested his hands on his knees and rubbed at his back. “Blackwall was heavy enough.”

“And what did you do to occupy your time?” Solas asked, face grim beneath the multicolored glory of his knitted cap. His hand was clenched around his staff hard enough that Blackwall was shocked it hadn't broken. 

“Really, Chuckles?” Varric outright laughed at the sight of Blackwall trying to tug up the edge of his collar up over a very obvious bite mark. “Do you need Sparkler to draw you a diagram too, I hear he's good at those.”

“I am sure that won't be necessary.” Solas snapped. “And apparently I am the only one to be concerned about this....development.”

“Hey, kid.” Iron Bull called, scratching absently at flaking skin around one horn. “Blackwall here do anything you didn't like?”

“Yes, he stopped because I wasn't following his rule,” Cole replied blandly. “I have to tell him what I want and like or he says we have to stop. I didn't like that.”

“Yup.” Iron Bull clapped Solas on the shoulder. “Just you.”

“That said,” Varric raised his arms in a universal gesture of surrender. “I don't want to hear about it, and I may need a drink when we get back. I suggest you buy a few rounds, Hero.”

“Fair enough,” Blackwall nodded, falling into step beside Cole as they turned for the nearest camp. “First round's on me.”


	5. I will not deny....whatever this is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kinda mindless schmoop, folks. :D

It was supposed to be a good day.

Dawn in the Western approach always heralded the abrupt temperature change from the bitter cold of night to the uncomfortable sizzling heat of day. As the sun rose above the sweeping dunes and desolate crags, it blazed through the patched canvas of Blackwall's tent and roused him as abruptly as a call to arms. 

Simply turning over and going back to sleep wasn't an option, not with Cole spread out over Blackwall's chest like a skinny, blonde blanket and the somewhat muffled graphic noises coming from Cassandra and Iron Bull's nearby tent. 

“It's a different kind of conquering.” Cole mumbled against Blackwall's shoulder, pausing to yawn and settle back down with a sigh. “She wants a tooth to break so they fit together more but she isn't sure it's right yet.”

“I'd say they fit together already,” Blackwall chuckled. “And we need to get moving before there's no breakfast left.”

As unimpressed as Cole remained about food, he had taken to sleep with all the enthusiasm of any lad his apparent age, and wasn't about to be roused over the threat of missing the bland travel rations that Lavellan was no doubt burning over the fire. Pressing his face harder into Blackwall's shoulder, Cole made a low noise of dissent and squeezed his eyes shut against the glare of the rising sun. 

If he hadn't already promised Lavellan that he'd help with the big Venatori overrun fortress they'd spotted the night before, Blackwall would've been content to linger in his blankets and wake Cole up as slowly as he was wont to when they were at Skyhold. As much as he loved having the spirit wild and insatiable, there was something utterly endearing about taking him when he was sweetly languid and sleepy-eyed. 

“I'm hungry, you lazy creature.” Blackwall said fondly, allowing himself a minute to run his hands down Cole's long back and over the tempting swell of his arse, before moving to tug on his ragged hair. “Lavellan's going to come storming in here soon and I'd rather have my bits covered.”

Cole heaved himself up with a martyred sigh, blearily rubbing at his eyes until Blackwall tossed an armload of gear in his direction. 

Blackwall wiped down each piece of armor before he pulled it on, having learned the first day in the desert what a misery a few grains of sand in the wrong place could be. From the corner of his eye he watched Cole tug on his leathers and felt the now familiar current of guilty amusement under the overwhelming proprietary pride. As unique and powerful as Cole was, it was sometimes difficult to see when he was half dressed and sneakily trying to remove the very large beetle that had apparently shared their tent all night.

“The wind made it roll,” Cole said a bit defensively as Blackwall raised a bushy brow. “Then it was night and it likes the sun.”

Rubbing at his beard to cover his amusement, Blackwall pointed dourly at the tent flap and watched Cole slink off into the sunlight, the beetle clicking ominously in his carefully cupped hands. Were he any other young man, one less prone to excessive empathy, Blackwall would have had to make sure that Cole didn't introduce the pest to Sera's bedroll, or, even worse, the lady Vivienne's tent.

The campfire was ringed by people trying to politely cover their grimaces over the burned chunks in their porridge. Lavellan was stirring the remains frantically, adding handfuls of dried fruit and filling bowls with panache, as if enthusiasm could cover his latest culinary disaster. Of all the hobbies the Inquisitor could have embraced, Blackwall wished he'd found one he was a least tolerably good at. 

Lumpy, singed porridge not withstanding, there was a welcome camaraderie that Blackwall had never thought he would be a part of again. Even Solas, who was serenely ignoring Lavellan's attempts to scoop more breakfast into his bowl, glowered less than usual when Cole returned and folded himself up at Blackwall's feet. 

“Hey, don't Creepy get some?” Sera snorted with laughter as Cole cringed away from Lavellan's eagerly proffered bowl as if physically repelled. “Feed it up so it don't eat Beardy's brain or whatever demony shite it does.”

“I don't want to eat Blackwall's brain.” Cole looked dourly at the heaped contents of his breakfast in a way that suggested he really didn't want to eat that either. “I like how the other parts taste better.”

“Ugh.” Cassandra huffed, echoed by Sera who noisily spat her last mouthful of porridge back into her bowl.

“Hey!” Iron Bull enthused, craggy face splitting into the proudest grin Blackwall had ever seen. “That was innuendo. Good on you kid!”

___________________________________________________________________________

The forgotten space beneath the captured Venatori keep had probably been a storage room once. Blackwall didn't care beyond it being private and quiet; a place where he could settle Cole on a dusty crate and comfort himself by going over every inch of new scarring that marked his pale skin.

“Don't ever do that again.” Blackwall knelt between Cole's knees, calloused fingers spread out over his bare stomach. “It's not worth getting killed over the likes of me.”

The ugly wounds that had been open and bleeding an hour ago were nothing more than livid lines of scar tissue, oddly smooth and warm under Blackwall's questing hands. It was too easy to remember the dull gleam of exposed bone, the warm slap of blood across the stone....if Lavellan hadn't been so quick with that revival spell....

“But he was.” Cole squirmed a little, long fingers cupping Blackwall's bearded jaw lightly. “If I hadn't fought you would have fallen....Lavellan said he would make me a new coat.”

“He'd better.” Blackwall fingered the edge of the slashed leather and blood-spattered mail, torn chain-links slipping through his hands like water. If he thought Cole would wear it, he'd ask Lavellan to add some plate to the usual assortment of layered leather, especially if the lad insisted on defending his heartier teammates at the expense of his own skin. 

“I would be too heavy.” Cole was all wide eyes and messy hair, jumping unexpectedly when Blackwall's fingers found a sensitive patch of skin on his side. “It would make me...always here, even when I need to not be.”

“Ha!” Blackwall barked in amusement as Cole tried to squirm backwards and was thwarted by the stone wall at his back. “Are you ticklish, little demon?”

“I...don't know.” Cole seemed fascinated by the concept, but was quick to yank on Blackwall's hair when the exploration continued. “That makes my skin not want to be there!”

“Sorry, lad.” Blackwall filed that knowledge for later and settled his hands on Cole's thighs instead, thumbs rubbing over the taught muscles under his leathers. Replacing his fingers with his mouth, Blackwall pressed an open mouthed kiss to the healed flesh of Cole's stomach, hearing the spirit's breath catch as he moved higher and let his teeth scrape a bit harder. 

Settling back against the wall, Cole spread his legs wider to accommodate Blackwall's armored body. It was the work of seconds to pull the ruined remains of his coat off, to catch Cole's ragged hair and tug him into a lazy kiss. 

It took only a moment of feeling Cole's eager mouth against him for Blackwall's worry and fear to kindle into a blaze of sudden desire like the flames Lavellan could set to burn on bare stone. He kissed him harder, setting his fingers to unlacing uncooperative leathers. It barely registered when Cole shivered until he did it again hard enough that his shoulders bounced off the wall behind him.

“Cole?” Blackwall frowned, “are you alright?”

“I think so...” Cole adopted an expression caught somewhere between bafflement and irritation, as if the curious sensations of his body had betrayed him by interrupting the progress of Blackwall's hand down the front of his leathers. “But it's cold here, can we go in the sun?”

Blackwall's frown deepened. The old storage chamber was cooler than the rest of the sun-baked fortress, but certainly couldn't be considered cold. His unease grew when Cole shivered again, skin flushed despite his sudden chill. 

“You're seeing a healer, who knows what you could have picked up.” And whatever it is, it probably wasn't helped by being rutted at by a stupid old fool, Blackwall added to himself.

“I picked up all the purple rocks. Lavellan wants to make something new for Dorian, bright and beautiful.” Cole let Blackwall wrap the tattered remains of his coat back around his shoulders and urge him up and into the brilliant noonday sun. 

The healers were busy with a group of scouts who had wandered to far into the poisonous fumes near the hot pools, but a tired looking young woman looked Cole over, frowning a little over the heat that was starting to radiate off his skin. The only suggestion she had was to let Cole sleep it off, which was how Blackwall wound up sitting in the shaded awning of a hurriedly pitched tent with Cole shivering miserably against his chest.

 

“Hey kid, how are you doing?” Varric lifted the edge of the pile of blankets curled sadly on Blackwall's lap. 

“The sun wants to live in my skin,” Cole muttered from beneath his covers. “Lavellan says I caught the fever, but The iron Bull thinks the Venatori gave it to me. I don't remember either.”

“What's Tiny got to do with this?” Varric patted what he assumed was the general location of Cole's shoulder.

“He thinks the Venatori that hurt Cole might have had something poisonous on his blade.”Blackwall bit the words out past the dread that had been building since Bull went stomping out to look for the dead Venatori the Inquisition soldiers had dumped in a nearby ravine. “Which makes this my fault.”

“Hero....” Varric started, with a long suffering sigh. “I know guilt is your favorite thing, and it makes for wonderful stories to make maidens and compassion spirits swoon, but how exactly is this your fault.?”

“I made a mistake, Cole paid for it.” Blackwall said grimly. He could still hear the crackle of ice surrounding his limbs, the arc of a blade coming down. “So I am to blame.”

Varric actually rolled his eyes at that, smirking slightly when even the pile of blankets made a querulous noise of dissent. “Yes, because none of us have never stepped on a trap spell before. You do remember The Seeker threatening Tiny with grievous bodily harm if he ever did it again....and then he did it on purpose just to see what would happen? If it makes you feel better, Kid would have taken that hit for any of us. And probably a baby nug.” 

Cole dragged his blankets down far enough to reveal his flushed face and sweat tangled hair. “Nugs don't like it here. The sand gets between their toes and itches when they walk. I would have helped anyone, even Sera and she wouldn't want me to.”

Having finished that declaration, Cole flopped back down on Blackwall's lap with a level of miserable melodrama rarely seen beyond Dorian's fits of pique regarding rainstorms. If he didn't feel horrible about the whole situation, and wasn't genuinely worried, Blackwall might have almost laughed. As it was, the scalding heat of Cole's skin roused too many old memories...

“It's not the same,” Cole said fitfully. “Those are winter clothes, Liddy. Furs are too hot for summer.”

“None of that, lad.” Blackwall pressed the back of his hand against Cole's forehead and smoothed back his tangled hair. “Just rest.”

To Blackwall's deep disgust, Varric left him with a sheaf of parchment that contained not one, but two new chapters of the ridiculously sordid 'Swords and shields' serial that he would quite happily have set on fire if it didn't make Cole so happy. 

Pretending he couldn't see Cassandra edging closer under the guise of checking tent-ropes, Blackwall stumbled through pages of the most tedious, melodramatic nonsense he'd ever read. It was almost a relief when Cole slipped into a restless sleep, cuddled up as close to Blackwall as he could manage without losing grip on his blanket hoard.

The peace lasted until Bull returned, bellowing into the courtyard like the bovine he'd named himself after. “I was right,” he announced, waving a bloody, battered sword over his head. “Nasty 'vint trick. Dipped the blade in....” Bull scraped a nail along the edge of the blade and stuck the digit in his mouth, rolling the substance over his tongue. “Felandris and quillback bile.”

“Bile.” Cassandra repeated icily, eyes colder than the ice-mine Blackwall had stepped on earlier. “Bile that you just put in your mouth?”

“Yeah?” Iron Bull's broad shoulders slumped a bit in the face of Cassandra's disapproval.

“She wanted you to use your tongue later. Now it's tainted.” Cole said hazily as he shivered hard enough that his teeth rattled. “Am I dying?”

“Of course not!” Cassandra snapped, hand dropping to the hilt of her sword as if she could physically defeat the possibility. 

“Nah, kid. You'll be ok.” Iron Bull crouched down, craggy face concerned as he peered at Cole's glazed eyes. “Boss is good with herbal crap, I'm sure he can cook something up.”

 

Despite assurances, Blackwall was getting honestly worried by the time Vivienne, of all people, walked into the little collection of tents as if she was parading through a slum. 

As soon as the keep had been liberated from Venatori occupation, Vivienne had sequestered herself (and the looted magical paraphernalia) in a spacious room that was, as she put it, 'considerably more satisfactory than a common tent'. It was strange to see her descend into their midst, pristine robes held in one hand and a plain clay mug in the other. 

Coming to a halt, Vivienne dismissed Blackwall with a glance, her regal face settling into an expression of deep disgust as she looked down at Cole. 

“Lady Vivienne?” Blackwall let a growl of warning creep into his voice, arm tightening around Cole as if that could shield him from the mage's ire.

“Oh don't be ridiculous,” Vivienne sniffed. “I am doing this as a favor to our Inquisitor, and I will not be intimidated by your posturing.”

“Doing _what_ as a favor for the Inquisitor, exactly?”

“I am familiar with the poison the Venatori use, it had a brief period of popularity at court as several straying husbands found out.” Vivienne prodded Cole's blankets aside with one elegant slipper. “I also wished to make sure the demon did not pose a danger to anyone if it was ill.”

There were layers of condemnation in Vivienne's haughty voice, but her hands were surprisingly gentle despite the distaste on her face. Cole roused a bit as she felt for the pulse point in his neck, fever-dulled eyes following her movements as she knelt in a pool of expensive fabric and held the mug up to his mouth.

“You will drink this, and then you will remain still while I do something about your fever.”Vivienne announced in a tone that brooked no argument. 

“Couldn't the Herald do that, or Solas?” Blackwall could feel Cole tense as he finished the contents of the mug and Vivienne reached out towards him. “Even Dorian....”

“The apostate is still out helping that ridiculous researcher procure offal, and our darling Inquisitor is more likely to turn your demon's head into an ice block.”

“I don't want that.” Cole said in a very small voice. 

“Quite.” Vivienne agreed, and Blackwall could swear her lips twitched upward ever so slightly. “And dear Lord Pavus would rather play with dead things than explore the finer magics. Now be still.”

Blackwall could feel the cold radiating off Vivienne's palms as she held one hand under Cole's jaw and another over his heart. After shaking through the first few seconds, Cole heaved a sigh of such utter relief that Blackwall felt a wave of gratitude towards Vivienne that bordered on ridiculously soppy. If Cole wasn't a rapidly cooling weight on his legs, and he hadn't thought it might have fatal repercussions for himself, Blackwall might have even considered hugging her.

“That would be very bad.” Cole warned solemnly, looking clearer than he had in hours. 

“I am sure I don't want to know what you are prattling about.” Vivienne said coolly, rising smoothly and flicking imagined debris from her robes. “And I have no interest in your thanks, I merely expect you to keep that creature out of trouble in the future.”

“She was worried.” Cole sounded shyly pleased as he watched Vivienne sweep regally away. “She forgot to be angry until she was sure.”

“You sound as if she wouldn't send you straight back to the fade if she had half a chance.”

“She would only because she thinks she would have to.” Cole stretched a bit tentatively before yawning and settling back down against Blackwall. “Sometimes she forgets to be afraid.”

“Well at least you sound more like yourself again.” Blackwall rubbed a thumb over Cole's cheek, thankfully cooler now. “How do you feel?”

“Better, not breaking or burning.” Cole yawned again, “everything is heavy and far away.”

Cole was asleep in minutes, and didn't even stir when Blackwall shifted him onto the bedroll they shared, tucking the blankets around his shoulders with a tenderness that was almost embarrassing. 

Retrieving a small block of wood from his packs, Blackwall settled down beside Cole. Content to listen to the comforting sounds of the camp settling in for the evening over the reassuring sound of the spirit's regular breathing. Turning the wood in his calloused hands, Blackwall scraped experimentally at the grain with his whittling blade, not a griffon this time he thought idly. Something smaller....maybe a rabbit.

___________________________________________________________________________

Blackwall woke to something wet against his neck, punctuated by the slight scrape of teeth. His first muddled thought was that the young varghest that had terrorized the keep, even going to far as to eat Cassandra's boots, had somehow gotten into his tent and he was moments away from a messy, undignified death. 

His second thought was that it wasn't a varghest, being as they tended to be cold and scaley rather than warm and smooth skinned. Whatever was paying such enticing attention to Blackwall's throat was straddling him with very long, human legs and was very clearly lacking in anything approaching scales.

“Finally awake are you, lad?” 

Cole had slept constantly for the last few days. Waking only when someone shook him hard enough to make him stir and drink another dose of the antidote Lavellan had prepared, before drifting off so abruptly that Blackwall was beginning to suspect Lady Vivienne was adding something to the tincture. 

“I don't have to drift anymore, my body listens to me now.” Cole made a contented noise and rubbed his cheek against Blackwall's chest. His hair was damp and smelled faintly of the mint scented soap that Cassandra favored. “I missed being here.”

The responsible thing to do would be to take Cole down to see the night healer before this went any further, make sure there was no chance of a relapse....

“I was awake for a long time. Cassandra made me talk to the healer already,” Cole admitted cheerfully. “He was frightened of her I think.....”

“Remind me to thank her later,” Blackwall said, charmed by Cole's solemn nod and the knowledge that he really would remind him. “Maybe find her a bottle of that blackcurrant brandy....”

“She wants to stop The Iron Bull's horns from itching. We should find something to help.” Cole wriggled impatiently, lowering his head to bite lightly at Blackwall's skin.

The tension that had wracked Blackwall for days eased as he pulled Cole into a rough kiss, kicking the sleeping furs aside so he could feel the lad's night-cool skin against him. The eager noises Cole made against his mouth as Blackwall's body reacted immediately to the unexpected awakening made him ache, clutching almost desperately at his lean hips. 

“I want you.” Blackwall groaned as he pushed Cole back into the furs. “Maker...”

Blackwall felt Cole's long arms wrap around his neck, his teeth raising bruises against his shoulder as he slicked himself and pushed abruptly into the tight, grasping heat of his body. It was rougher than Blackwall liked to be and he gasped a babbled apology against Cole's open mouth, only stopping when long legs wrapped around his waist to pull him deeper.

In the time since they were stranded in the old mine, Blackwall had enjoyed teaching Cole all the ways his body could feel good. He could happily spend hours twisting him into pretty little knots of lust, loving how shocked he always seemed to be to experience a sensation that wasn't hurt, cold or hunger. 

There was none of that gentle exploration now, Blackwall thrust almost desperately into Cole's willing body, kissing him savagely as he came into him and feeling wet heat against his stomach as Cole shared his release.. Panting, Blackwall cradled Cole's thin face between his hands, rubbing a thumb over his kiss-swollen bottom lip.

“I nearly lost you...” Blackwall felt like he was on the edge of something horrible and frightening. “Don't ever do that again.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't want you to hurt, but I made you afraid instead.” Cole pushed into Blackwall's hands, “you didn't think it would feel like that. Loss and losing, but becoming more. You wish it was as easy as Cassandra's tooth, two halves coming together.”

“Is there anything you don't know?” Blackwall said fondly. 

“I don't know how Dorian makes his hair listen to him,” Cole nodded. “Or how he makes his clothes like the fade.”

“Pavus is a mystery to everyone.” Blackwall kissed Cole again, slow and gentle. Appreciative that the lad had let him keep these feelings for himself, if only for a little while. “Now go get that new gear Lavellan made you, he wants to make an early start today.”

“He want's to be back where the air doesn't taste like hot water with eggs in it.” 

“He's not the only one,” Blackwall chuckled. “Even Sera ran out of jokes about the smell a few days ago. Let's go home, lad. Let's go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's all for now. At some point I'd like to do a trespasser-era follow-up if anyone is interested. (I have to admit I love this pair, so thanks to the other writers who got me hooked!)


End file.
